Bryan Thao Worra

Bryan Thao Worra Poems

There is a famous account of Jiang Yan, an official of the Southern Dynasty. One night, he dreamt a god presented him a wondrous writing brush. From that day forward, his literary talents were beyond compare. When he grew old, the god appeared again as a dream and retrieved the brush. Jiang Yan’s writing was never as brilliant again.


Given a thousand nights,
...

Someone stole my boots from
A Phonsavan porch
Around dinner time
In the dark.
...

Maybe one day,
A page will be found,
A song will be heard,
A stroke will be drawn
...

Youa tells me a story over the hot hibachi:
How she went to Laos
To see her lucky sisters
...

We turn our dishes to
Heaven, but

What manner of dog will come running
...

Our pilot packs a Makarov
Flying into the outskirts
Of the old province capitol
Long since delivered to kingdom come.
...

Speak to me of padaek
And some poor ba ferments, pungent, chunky and spicy.
Alas, so unlikely to catch on like sriracha or sushi,
At least in this century.
...

"Dream, " I said,
"Aren't you tired of making new legends
That no one but I ever hears? "
...

9.

From the moment I met her
She's been wiggling,
Squirming,
...

It took me by surprise that Hitler was a vegetarian.
Rudolf Hess, too.
I remember reading about them as a boy.
I remember the outrage when someone asked us to forgive them
...

Will I ever see poppies
In their natural habitat?
How red they appear in
All of these pictures beside
...

Since the 6th century B.C.,
The Buddha has said
The right perspective,
The right motive,
...

Sometimes, I want to tell you.
Laying by your side, it‟s a mystery to explain
Why I gave up my poetry for so long.
...

14.

Goes in hot. Comes out hot.
But this may be more than the casual student
Will want to know.
...

I came to Missoula to ask him
About the inner workings of ua neeb.
To understand the symbolic significance of split horns
And spirit horses who trace their noble smoky path
...

16.

When I go to sleep there is a distant city for a nation,
And in that city a street at night, fragrant as a frangipani.
On that street there is a house, there is a room, there is a pillow,
Soft and welcoming like a strong woman‟s smile
...

I take you to dance
In your dress of blue.
Santana‟s black magic woman is playing tonight.
...

So many days in flight, in the air or on stage
Lately, you seem half human, half bird,
Almost mythic, always beautiful and magic.
...

There‟s only a few in creation
Who read me like you.

So it goes.
...

Enter the heart and you understand.
To be jai yen, my heart cool, without worries,
I smile like a nak, a rainbow bridge, a June rain,
Trying to find a middle path I‟m happy with:
...

Bryan Thao Worra Biography

Bryan Thao Worra was born in 1973 in Vientiane, Laos during the Lao civil war. He came to the US at six months old, adopted by a civilian pilot flying in Laos. In 2003, he reunited with his biological family after 30 years during his first return to Laos. An award-winning writer, his work appears in numerous international anthologies, magazines and newspapers, including Innsmouth Free Press, Kartika Review, Outsiders Within, Bamboo Among the Oaks, Tales of the Unanticipated, Astropoetica, Quarterly Literary Review Singapore, Whistling Shade, Journal of the Asian American Renaissance, and Asian American Press. In 2009 he became the first Laotian American to receive an NEA Fellowship In Literature. In 2012 he was a Cultural Olympian during the Summer Olympics in London representing Laos. He is the author of the books On the Other Side of the Eye, BARROW, Tanon Sai Jai and Winter Ink. Thao Worra curated numerous readings and exhibits of Lao and Hmong American art including Legacies of War: Refugee Nation Twin Cities (2010) , Emerging Voices (2002) , The 5 Senses Show (2002) , Lao’d and Clear (2003) , Giant Lizard Theater (2005) , Re: Generations (2005) , and The Un-Named Series (2007) .)

The Best Poem Of Bryan Thao Worra

Dreamonstration

There is a famous account of Jiang Yan, an official of the Southern Dynasty. One night, he dreamt a god presented him a wondrous writing brush. From that day forward, his literary talents were beyond compare. When he grew old, the god appeared again as a dream and retrieved the brush. Jiang Yan’s writing was never as brilliant again.


Given a thousand nights,
Can you master even a single word?
Or a dream, a tool, a brain?

Open roads, discover ways,
Flow down a stream, slash at ignorance
With ink and a scrap of paper from a poet’s bag.


Do you ever recall that demons are easy,
But dogs are difficult, even if you have the knack?

Rummage among icons and avatars
Of old gods and vibrant titans too long

And in another life you might be little more
Than a short brushstroke, part of a tall tale half-remembered
For the object lesson of a daydreamer on a distant world,

Caught somewhere between a shadow of Sisyphus
And the chuckling gods of young Jiang Yan,
Or a sandwich for hobos on a lonely night far, far from Antares.

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